


The World is Quiet Here

by AutisticWriter



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Dark, Death, F/M, Ficlet, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Love, Murder, The Vile Village, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14255793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: The last moments of Jacques Snicket.





	The World is Quiet Here

Olaf and Esme advance on him, brandishing crowbars. Jacques glances all around the dingy saloon, looking for an escape route. But he can’t see one. He is going to have to fight his way out of this.

He thinks of all of his fighting and self defence training, knowing basically anything can be used as a weapon if you use your imagination. Jacques has fought his way out of countless altercations, often using nothing but his imagination and brute strength, but this situation proves far harder than most. Partly because he can’t find a weapon and has to resort to simply holding his fists out in front of him like a boxer, but mainly because Olaf gets the first blow.

He swings his crowbar and it smashes against his shoulder, knocking Jacques to the floorboards with a thud that resonates around the saloon. Pain explodes through his shoulder, bone crunching and skin tearing beneath his clothes. Jacques grits his teeth, willing himself not to cry out.

And before he has a chance to get up, Esme slams her crowbar against his ankle. The crunch is sickening and Jacques finds he can’t wiggle his toes anymore. Pain flares through his body, pounding inside his skull as his heart palpitates.

And then blows hit him at a terrifying pace, metal smashing against his knee, his other shoulder, his hip, each hit shooting pain through his aching body and making his bones and joins crack and crunch.

And Jacques can’t move. He can’t escape. He is trapped.

Esme kicks him in the face, the heel of her shoe stabbing his cheek, cutting his skin open and dislodging one of his teeth, whilst the ball of her shoe presses down on his nose until he feels a hideous pop and blood trickles out of his nostrils. His mouth fills with blood, coating his tongue as hot trails off it trickle down his face.

Olaf and Esme are taunting him, but Jacques is too spaced out and in far too much pain to process their words. Not that he would want to listen anyway. He is probably going to die, and he doesn’t want his last moments to involve the taunts of two evil bastards like them.

He wants to move, but he can’t. Both his legs are broken, and his vision starts to crackle at the edges from the blow to his head. They are going to kill him.

He’s going to die.

Jacques tries to tune out from what is happening, tries to think about Olivia. She escaped this horrible place. He thinks of the kiss they shared, the love that blossoms in his heart when he thinks of her (even now, when his heart is pounding with pain and terror), the realisation that he is never going to see her again. But she is alive. She is safe.

When a crowbar hits his chest, Jacques can’t try to ignore the pain anymore. Because, with a crunch, several of his ribs cave him, muscles tearing inside him. he winces despite his desperation to keep silent, and he hears Esme say, “Oh dear, are you in pain?” in the most horribly sarcastic voice he’s ever heard.

He gasps for breath, but one of his broken ribs punctures his lung. He feels it deflate and breathing becomes almost impossible, his breathes nothing more than a hissing noise as his punctured lung flails uselessly.

Jacques looks up to see Olaf and Esme staring down at him, grinning sadistic smiles as they brandish their now bloodstained crowbars. He doesn’t want them to be the last thing he ever sees. He screws up his eyes, making futile attempts to breathe as pain fills his whole body, and pictures Olivia.

His beautiful Olivia. His courageous Olivia. His wonderful, brave, amazing Olivia. He imagines them holding hands and kissing, and doesn’t even notice as his hearing starts to fade and the pain doesn’t seem quite so agonising.

And as a crowbar smashes against his head, making his skull cave in and blood spurt from the jagged gash on his forehead, his last thoughts are of Olivia before the world goes dark and quiet… and black and silent…

And then nothingness.


End file.
